The Obsidian Group

Cynthia Kolby was a very beautiful 28-year-old white woman. Born into wealth, she had never known what it was like to have to work for a living. Her family's wealth had always protected her from the rigors of daily living. But after graduating from college, with her Master's Degree in her slim white fingers, she found out that life was not all peaches and cream. The Kolby family had owned and operated one of the more prosperous mills in Georgia. And Cynthia just knew that taking over for her ailing and aged dad would be a piece of cake. But soon after taking control and going over the books, she found that not only was the mill not prosperous, it was on the verge of bankruptcy.

Cynthia's master's degree had been in Business Administration. It didn't take her long to see that mismanagement had run the once moneymaking mill into the ground. Knowing that she had to hit the ground running, Cynthia set out to fix things right. She fired almost all of the present managers. Men who had been with the mill for years and who never allowed the old man to really know what was going on. Then she set out to find funding to update the outdated equipment. But the mill had been losing money for a long time. The books had been altered to show profitability, but the auditors at the bank soon found out the truth. Cynthia was faced with being the one who had come along to do nothing more than close the mill forever.

Having been taught to never allow others to see your inner feelings, Cynthia accepted the invitation to attend the party given by another mill owner. His mill had also been in dire financial straits. But he seemed to have found the money to upgrade his business to the point that this year he showed a profit. Thus the party! Cynthia was talking to Roseanna, the wife of the mill owner. "Roseanna! How did you ever get the money to do the things you have done? From what I heard, your husband was in just as bad financial shape as daddy is." Roseanna pulled Cynthia outside and they walked toward the pond that sat on the property.

Sitting down with their champagne glasses in hand, Roseanna told Cynthia how it had happened. "No one, and I mean no one, was willing to lend Jack the money to upgrade the mill. We were weeks short of closing our doors forever. Then someone told me about 'The Obsidian Group'."

Cynthia looked at Roseanna. "I've never heard of them. Are they a new firm out of Atlanta?"

Roseanna laughed. "Goodness no! They are a small group out of New York City. They lend money to industries that can't find the funding anywhere else."

Cynthia looked a bit concerned. "They're not the Mafia or anything are they?" Roseanna laughed and the sound of her laughter filled the quiet night.

"Well, do they charge unreasonable interest rates?" Roseanna took a sip from her fluted glass.

"No! In fact the rates they gave us were even lower than those charged by other lending institutions. But I guess they work out different rates with different people. I would suggest that you talk to them instead of your dad." Cynthia would have been the one to talk to them anyway, but the way Roseanna had said it made her curious. "Why me instead of dad?" Roseanna set her drink down and touched Cynthia's hand. "Honey! This is a group of blacks. Three brothers and a sister in fact! And you know as well as I do, your daddy would rather die than ask a black man for a dime."

Cynthia did know. She had seen the way the black men and women in her daddy's mill were treated. They never got the same pay as whites and were always passed over for promotions. The one time she had mentioned that to her father he pulled her to the side. "Baby girl! Some things are meant to be. And how those darkies are treated is one of them. You don't give no never mind to that." No! Her father would rather see the mill burn to the ground than ask a black man for water to put it out. She told Roseanna to give her the number. The very next day, she called the Obsidian Group.

Cynthia was passed from one person to the next. Each person asking for some specific information. She had to give consent for them to research her financial records. They told her that she would have her answer within a week. All week long, Cynthia had to lie to her father about what she was up to. But in his advanced age, he had left the running of the mill in her hands. Not that he was feeble, but he was old and tired of the constant rat race. Cynthia had been sitting in her office when the phone rang. "Hello Cynthia Kolby? This is Shamaria Casternet. My brothers and I would like to meet with you, in regards to your request for funding from our group. Would 2pm tomorrow be convenient for you? Good! We look forward to talking with you.

Cynthia didn't sleep well that night. The gravity of what she was about to do haunted her. If her father found out that she had gone to a black group for funding he would be very angry with her. He might even refuse to allow her to go thru with the deal. The next day, she made many excuses to be out of the office. When 2 o'clock came around, she went to the office of a well-known and respected attorney in her area. She was led into an office, and stopped dead in her tracks before the door even closed. Seated at the large conference table, were three of the most handsome Black men Cynthia had ever seen. And sitting at the head of the table was a woman who looked like one of the beautiful models Cynthia had seen in her magazines.

The attorney closed the door and the outer office became silent. "Please sit down Ms. Kolby!" the black woman stood up and walked around the table. Cynthia couldn't help but look at the graceful way she moved. Like a Black Panther, she strode across the room. She was tall for a woman. Cynthia guessed that she must have been close to 6 feet tall. And her body was so shapely; it almost appeared to have been sculptured. She was so expertly proportioned that Cynthia suddenly felt gawky and awkward. She held out a perfectly manicured hand and took Cynthia's hand in hers. Cynthia could feel the softness as she was led to a chair.

"These are my brothers. May I present Marcus." The man who stood appeared to be the oldest of the three men. He had salt and pepper hair with a short mustache. He appeared to be very well built. In fact, all three men looked as if they took very good care of themselves. Cynthia shook his hand and he sat down. "Garner!" The man seated in the middle stood and took her hand. He seemed a bit younger than his brother but carried himself with equal grace and poise. "So pleased to meet you Ms. Kolby!" His smile was so innocent and infectious; Cynthia couldn't help returning it. As she let his hand go, she heard the woman introducing the last brother.

"And this is Steven." Cynthia turned to greet the last brother. He sat appraising her. Cynthia got the impression that he was visually undressing her. She suddenly felt like a rabbit caught out in the open when the hawk flew by. She swallowed hard and stuck out her hand. As he stood and took it, Cynthia could feel the way his fingers slid up and down her hand. He smiled and Cynthia could have sworn that she had never seen whiter teeth or a prettier smile on a man in her life. But the smile didn't make her feel any more comfortable than his staring eyes did. Cynthia dropped her hand as he let it go.

"And I am Shamaria Casternet. Please sit down. Would you like a coffee, tea or a drink?" Cynthia shook her head. "No thank you." She had told herself that she would present the front of a confidant, in control woman. She may have to deal with these black people, but she would let them know that it was because she wanted to not because she needed them. "Let's get right down to the reason for this meeting. Your mill is in trouble. You would like to borrow 15 million dollars. No bank will lend you money because, for all intents and purposes, it would be a foolish risk. Your father has allowed things to run down. Almost to the point that it would be better to just allow you to shut your operation down! We could buy you out for a song, retool and reopen as a new mill. That would bring in a lot of jobs and offer you a way of saving face in this town with the money we would pay."

The blunt way her situation was thrown in her face made Cynthia swallow. She would not be the one in control of this meeting after all. "Well I wouldn't put it so bluntly! But yes, the mill is in dire financial straits. I was hoping to convince you that an investment by your group would pay big dividends in the long run." Shamaria looked down at the white woman. She smiled. This woman was about the youngest and prettiest one to ever come to them for help. Shamaria looked down at the very pretty young white woman. "And tell me Ms. Kolby, just what do you expect our help will bring you?"

At least Cynthia had done her homework. She turned to look at the brothers then back at Shamaria. "Well for one thing, with new equipment, we could double our output. This would increase the amount we could sell and export. And we could do it cheaper." Shamaria held her hand up to stop the woman. "And how would that help the black people who work for you?" The question caught Cynthia by surprise. "Why, they would benefit from all the work they would have." Shamaria nodded her head and smiled. But it wasn't a friendly smile. She looked over at her brothers. Cynthia caught the exchanged looks between them.

"I'm gonna tell you a story. That will explain how we came into being and tell you about the terms of our helping you. As kids, we watched our father and mother work in mills and factories just like yours. And just like in your mill, the blacks were always paid less than the white folks were. They had to work damn hard to send us to school. And many times they had to train young white boys who knew half as much as they did. Those boys became their bosses and treated them like shit. All over the south, the same thing happened to many black men and women. You white folks have it all and make damn sure we never get a break.

Well, as kids my brothers and I made a pact. We were gonna bust our ass in school, get the best grades and find a way to make all you "some-a bitches" pay. We studied hard and did extra work, all to find a way to get back at the white folks who broke the spirit of blacks all over the south. I have a Ph.D. in Business law. Marcus has a Ph.D. in engineering; Garner in banking and finance; and Steven has his in computer science. We became smart enough to put our plan in action. We began to form partnerships with firms that needed our expertise. And accumulated enough money to form our little financial group. We learned from you white folks that you don't need a lot of money to get ahead. Just other people who are in desperate need for the little bit you have.

We checked your family out completely. We know to the penny how much your mill is worth. We know how you pay your workers and how much. We know that your daddy is making a good show of having money when he's almost broke. We even know about the three "secret" accounts that you have squirreled away in the Bahamas." Cynthia opened her mouth in surprise. Steven spoke up as Shamaria stopped talking. "You'd be surprised at how much computers do not hide. With the right codes, you can find out anything. You have not put as much money into the workers retirement fund as you say you have. And your family has embezzled most of that."

Cynthia sat looking from one person to the other. And they all looked back at her. "I, I didn't know about the retirement funds being taken. All I concentrated on was the mill records. I swear." Shamaria looked at Cynthia. "We can help you. Like I said, we are a very small group. But we're a group with a lot of resources. You can't get a loan from anyone else. And the amount you are asking for is almost twice what your mill is worth. We offer two types of contracts. Both are 60/40. With one, we offer you the money but we own 60% of your business. Oh, we allow you to continue to run it and keep appearances of ownership. But that is just so that we can do business with people, who won't deal with blacks fairly. The rates are slightly higher than other lending institutions would give you. But then no other institution will lend you money."

Cynthia sat there listening to the woman. This would give her the money she needed, but in the end, she would lose her business. And there was no way that daddy could live with that. Losing the business to black people would kill him. No! Doing things that way would only lead to him finding out. And in the end, she would own nothing. All these things ran thru her mind. But wait! The woman had said that they did two kinds of loans. What did the other one detail? She looked up and found Shamaria looking down into her face. There was an air of expectancy about the woman that Cynthia found somewhat unsettling.

"You said that you did two types of loans. The first one would leave me with nothing. Or at least in a situation where I didn't control anything. So what is the second type of loan that you make?" Cynthia sat there looking at Shamaria. The woman began to smile. "Well to tell you the truth, after talking with you, I don't think that the other type of loan would interest you. You see, being a small independent group, such as we are, we can tailor our loan conditions in very unorthodox ways. Some of our clients find that this meets conditions that they can live with. I know what was going thru your mind as you sat there thinking. There is no way your daddy would allow you to enter into a loan agreement with us. He hates blacks with a passion. Am I right Ms. Kolby?"

Cynthia felt like a helpless animal. Being herded in the direction the hunter wanted her to go. But she didn't have any options left to bargain with. She tried to put on her best smile. "Why don't you lay it out on the table and let me be the judge of what would suit me?" Shamaria smiled at the woman. "One thing I like about you already. You do have a pair of balls for a white woman." Cynthia watched as Shamaria looked at each of her brothers. Each one nodded in turn and then Shamaria turned to look at Cynthia again.

Shamaria sat down and crossed her long shapely legs. Cynthia couldn't help but look as the short skirt the woman wore rode up higher on her thighs. Shamaria didn't fail to notice. "You need 15 million dollars just to be able to pay all your debts, replace the stolen money into the retirement account before it's exposed and keep your factory running in the hopes of turning things around." Cynthia nodded her head in agreement. Although she didn't know just how much money would have to be replaced in the retirement account. "Well we would be able to offer you not only that much, but an additional 10 million dollars, along with all the expertise that our group controls.

This will help you retool, computerize many parts of your mill work and open up many markets that you may not have had access to. But before you answer that you would like this type of loan, there is a very big catch that goes with it." Cynthia could only imagine what she would have to give up for what they offered. The two women looked at each other. The men sitting on the side were forgotten for the moment. This was a challenge between two lionesses, for the control of the pride. And even though Cynthia knew that Shamaria had control of the situation, she would show this black bitch that white women knew how to do business also.

"Ok Ms. Casternet! Let's put all the cards on the table. You have a deal to make. I need that deal. What are we talking about here?" Shamaria Casternet had done many deals in her professional career. And many of them had the clients begging and pleading for the money she controlled. But this white bitch had a stubborn pride that needed to be broken. And Shamaria sat it as a challenge, that she be the one to break it. "Ok Ms. Kolby! We will loan your mill 25 million dollars. The loan agreement will consist of you repaying the loan plus interest. The interest will be 2% lower than bank prime. We gain a 40% ownership in your mill. This is done thru many different "white" corporations."

Cynthia felt her heart begin to beat faster. 25 million dollars was more than she could have ever worked up the nerve to ask for. Why, with that amount, she would be able to increase her production to rival the mill that Roseanna's husband ran. Shamaria hide the wolfish smile she felt. If they had been playing poker, she would have taken this poor girl for everything. Nobody should ever be that transparent. Cynthia was about to jump at the chance when Shamaria held up her hand. "Before you say another word, Cynthia, don't think that we are in the business of just giving money away. This agreement comes with a hefty price attached."

Cynthia thought to herself, 'how much could they ask for". She looked up at Shamaria. "So what do I have to do to get this loan, give you my first born?" She laughed and smiled at the brothers sitting there. But when they did not smile back, her smile disappeared. She looked back up at Shamaria. Shamaria smiled down at her. "No Cynthia, not your first born! But for the next year, once a month, you will submit to myself and my brothers." Cynthia looked at Shamaria dumbfounded. "Submit to you and your brothers? What do you mean?" Shamaria sat down and when she did, her skirt rose up even more on her shapely black thighs. Cynthia's eyes stared at them then she looked up into Shamaria's face. But the woman had caught her stare.

Shamaria sat back in the chair and from her posture, her tits were thrust forward. Cynthia could feel the brother's eyes on her as her eyes locked onto Shamaria's eyes. "Yes! Submit! Once a month, for a whole week, you will present yourself to one of us. And for that week, you will do everything that we want you to. To put it plainly, you will become a slave once a month for a week." Shamaria sat back and smiled at Cynthia. The young white girl didn't know what to say. Then her mouth worked open and closed. "You're asking me to become a whore, a prostitute to each of you?" Marcus stood up and his movement made Cynthia turn to face him.

"Ms. Kolby! In life, people are either whores, prostitutes or pimps. We all start out as whores or prostitutes. Doing what is asked of us or what we're told to get where we are. And I don't know of any prostitute that gets paid 25 million dollars for the use of her body. Oh we won't do anything to you to hurt you. And we won't make you do things that would embarrass you to others. You will not be allowed to discuss the things that take place, while you are with us. Unless it is with one of us! But think of it Cynthia, you will be able to save your father's mill, become very successful and rich in the bargain. Not many women will ever get that chance in life."

Cynthia's mind was racing. She looked at Shamaria. "Is that what you did with Roseanne?" Shamaria smiled. "What takes place with a client is strictly confidential. And most clients don't know who other clients are. You and Roseanna know of each other only thru her sending you to us. But you will never discuss what takes place not even with Roseanna. Nor will she talk to you about what took place with her. So Cynthia! What is your answer? Will you avail yourself of this opportunity? Or will you sit back and watch your father's mill become ours totally?"

Cynthia didn't know whether she should laugh in their face or tell them to go to hell and stalk out. "Ah, I need time to think about this. This is the strangest deal I've even heard of. You want me to become your slave once a week for a month. Submit to your whims and desires, and for that, I get to use your money!" Shamaria smiled at Cynthia. "You have that exactly right! And I will give you 24 hours to think about it." Shamaria took a card from her pocket and handed it to Cynthia. "When you decide, call this number. Just give them the answer and hang up. One of us will contact you after that."